“About the trouble you and Cap'n Lote had this afternoon. I know you're plannin' to leave us all and go away somewheres and that he told you to go, and all that. I know what you've been doin' up here to-night. Fur's that goes,” she added, with a little catch in her breath and a wave of her hand toward the open trunk and suitcase upon the floor, “I wouldn't need to know, I could SEE.”
Albert was surprised and confused. He had supposed the whole affair to be, so far, a secret between himself and his grandfather.
“You know?” he stammered. “You—How did you know?”
“Laban told me. Labe came hurryin' over here just after supper and told me the whole thing. He's awful upset about it, Laban is. He thinks almost as much of you as he does of Cap'n Lote or—or me,” with an apologetic little smile.
Albert was astonished and troubled. “How did Labe know about it?” he demanded.
“He heard it all. He couldn't help hearin'.”
“But he couldn't have heard. The door to the private office was shut.”
“Yes, but the window at the top—the transom one, you know—was wide open. You and your grandpa never thought of that, I guess, and Laban couldn't hop up off his stool and shut it without givin' it away that he'd been hearin'. So he had to just set and listen and I know how he hated doin' that. Laban Keeler ain't the listenin' kind. One thing about it all is a mercy,” she added, fervently. “It's the Lord's own mercy that that Issy Price wasn't where HE could hear it, too. If Issy heard it you might as well paint it up on the town-hall fence; all creation and his wife wouldn't larn it any sooner.”
Albert drew a long breath. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “I'm sorry Labe heard, but I don't suppose it makes much difference. Everyone will know all about it in a day or two . . . I'm going.”
Rachel leaned forward.